Solidarity
by GalaxieGurl
Summary: Brennan and Cam seek to help Hodgins and Angela after the explosion in The Doom in the Boom.
1. Chapter 1

Solidarity

A/N: This brief story idea popped into my head while I re-watched some of Season 2 yesterday.

Dr. Jack Hodgins was an angry, frustrated man. He craved activity he could no longer achieve.

A sports enthusiast who reveled in all forms of physical exertion, he was accustomed to an active lifestyle, engaging in all manner of exercise. As a youth attending exclusive schools, he'd learned the art of fencing and spent hours practicing his techniques during lonely weekends and summers when his parents travelled the globe. During college, he'd excelled on the tennis team, and enjoyed vigorous racquetball matches with other doctoral students.

When he first joined the Jeffersonian staff, his therapist recommended two methods of dealing with his anger management issues; snapping a rubber band on his wrist, and taekwondo. The intricate patterns and poses, precise strikes and moves of this ancient martial art calmed his fiery spells. Resentment of his short stature was replaced by quiet confidence. But a bomb undid all that.

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The explosion of Officer Thomas Gallo's body and subsequent epidural hematoma compressing his spine had left Hodgins in a wheelchair and a snit, no longer able to pursue the sports he loved. To say he was adjusting poorly to his new situation would be a monumental understatement. His angst was driving a wedge between him and the exhausted love of his life striving to care for his diverse medical and mental needs. Arriving at the lab after a particularly turbulent morning with her husband, Angela was at her wits' end. Brennan found her sobbing quietly. The anthropologist set aside the file in her hand and leaned over to embrace her best friend.

"Let's get out of here for some fresh air. Can I take you to the diner for coffee?" she asked gently. The artist wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and nodded silently.

"Let me get my jacket and alert Cam we'll be out for a while."

Brennan left Angela's office and walked across the lab to Cam's doorway.

"Do you have a moment, Dr. Saroyan? Angela needs a break; Dr. Hodgins' poorly vented frustration is wearing her down. I'm walking with her to the diner for coffee and donuts. That always seems to calm Booth when he's aggravated."

"Good idea, Dr. Brennan. Let me know if I can help once you return."

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Slowly Brennan and Angela walked the few blocks between the Jeffersonian and the Royal Diner talking quietly. Having tried all the calming techniques she could think of or read about, Angela was intensely worried and completely stress by her husband's smoldering anger which seethed between them like a pot ready to boil over and scald the pair.

"I know he's hurting inside; but nothing I try comforts him. . ."

"This job has taken a toll on each of us in some way, Angela. Hodgins suffered a permanent debilitation, but he's not the only one who bears aches and scars from our work. Booth is the most obvious, but the rest of us have more subtle injuries."

"I know that, and he does intellectually, but it doesn't help our situation. Just knowing you're here and care helps more than you know, Bren. I need to finish that skull identification sketch; let's get back to the lab. Thank you for listening."

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Later that afternoon, Brennan re-entered Cam's office. The pathologist looked up from her computer.

"Cam, I have an idea. I'd like your opinion."

"Sure, what is it?"

"May I sit a moment?"

"Surely."

"What if some of us wrote Hodgins a note of empathy and support, encouraging him, but also describing how our work has affected us personally? I'm not suggesting we discuss the matter with him, just leave these for him to read privately. Perhaps the realization that all of us bear marks from our pursuit of justice will alleviate his lonely frustration in some small way."

"Dr. Brennan, that might just work. If we avoid preaching or blaming him, and just commiserate a bit, it might bring him some resolution. I still have breathing issues from inhaling that methyl bromide when I cut open Carolyn Epps' skull," Cam disclosed.

"Whenever I do yoga poses or martial arts, my upper arm still aches from the knife Dr. Leacock plunged into my posterior cutaneous nerve," Brennan admitted.

"I have aches and pains on damp cold days from injured muscles when clear back I was a cop in New York," Cam replied.

"Ms. Warren confided in me that Agent Aubrey's back bears scar tissue from that same explosions which pulls uncomfortably when he works out. But neither he nor Booth would likely agree to our plan. Perhaps a letter of solidarity from just the two of us would benefit Dr. Hodgins sufficiently. I feel this matter is too private to discuss with everyone," Brennan mused aloud.

"It's worth a try, Brennan. I don't think we should ever mention it to Hodgins or Angela, however. Just put it out there and see what happens."

"Thanks, Cam. I hope it helps him. I don't read people well, but both of them are hurting badly."

"Dr. Brennan, you're a good person, and more insightful than you give yourself credit for. The same as when you used the pudding osteomyelitis test during the Kennedy autopsy for Booth," Cam reminded her with a smile.

"You, too, Cam. You hold this place together more than people realize. I acknowledged long ago the wisdom Dr. Goodman showed in hiring you."

"Thanks, Dr. Brennan, that means a lot, coming from you."

Brennan cleared her throat and stood up. "I have a skull to reconstruct; I should get back to work."

"Me, too. Only I'm dealing with a budget report for the Board meeting next week. Want to grab lunch at Wong Fu's?"

"Yes, I'd enjoy that, Cam. Text me when you're ready to go."


	2. Chapter 2

Brennan's Two Cents Worth

Temperance Brennan sat at her computer thinking. She activated the machine's 'incognito' mode for this very private document. She had already tried writing out her thought in longhand, as Booth did, but numerous crumpled sheets of paper now occupied a trashcan beside her desk. She wrote her novels on her keyboard, Andy's and Kathy's crime-fighting pursuits and friendly squabbles filling the screen as her fingers moved across the keys. Her agile mind moved very quickly, and sometimes thoughts flowed out at lightning speed. Technology was faster than the Schaeffer fountain pen she loved so much.

A wrinkle appeared between her brows, and she unconsciously chewed her lower lip. . .

"Dear Dr. Hodg…

"Dear Jac-

"Dear Hodgins,

"You and I are both intensely private people, which makes this letter all the harder to write. We have become not only trusted associates, and esteemed colleagues, but friends as well through the last few years. Close friends, I believe. For this reason, I'm audaciously conveying some thoughts to you, which I feel compelled to express, which may vex you, but which I hope may comfort you in time.

"I admire your dedicated work ethic and pursuit of truth more than I can put into words. I greatly respect your desire to work quietly at the Jeffersonian Institution, rather under the radar, without your co-workers being aware of your connection to the Cantilever Group and your resultant financial position. I have come to rely on your occasional sparsely-dispensed advice, which has always proven insightful and extremely beneficial to me.

"I wish Booth could be writing you this letter, as he has suffered many physical injuries in his work, both military and FBI. He could support and commiserate better than I can, but he would never presume to intrude upon your privacy, nor divulge his own feelings regarding this subject. For me to do so, is uncharacteristically brassy and forward, but I can see you are hurting inside, and find myself forced to share my thoughts.

"While I haven't been injured to the same serious extent as you, I have found myself physically hurting a few times in our line of work. During the fountain case with Avalon, Dr. Leacock threw a knife at me, as you know. The sight of that sharp implement protruding from my upper arm, piercing my posterior cutaneous nerve, gave me nightmares for several weeks. I still feel the damage it caused whenever the weather is cold or damp.

"While I don't willingly reveal that I was kidnapped by mercenary soldiers several times during digs in Latin America, I know you've heard the stories. The memories of those frightening, uncertain days while they held me captive still sear my brain; especially at night when I least expect it.

"If I had chosen a more sedate university major, and never ventured to war-torn countries to identify victims in mass graves, I'd never have been kidnapped. If I had continued to work with the silent residents of Bone Storage in the Jeffersonian basement, giving back their names and voices, I'd never have been stabbed, or shot by that Virginia sheriff. Studying ancient mummies sent to our institution never placed me in harm's way.

"But assisting the Army and various governments with victim identification, and working with the FBI has led to my being injured several times, both mentally and physically. It comes with the work we do.

"If you had chosen to work in a university research laboratory or used your brilliant mind to teach younger people, imparting the vast knowledge you have acquired in botany, entomology, mineralogy, palynology, and chemistry; you would not be sitting in a wheelchair today. Your life would have remained safe, sheltered, and predictable. But you offered your analytical talents to the wider world, helping save, rescue, and bring justice to people who lack your intellectual genius.

"I deeply regret that you were so grievously injured by that bomb inside poor Officer Gallo's body. No one should have to pay the price demanded from you. I admire your determination and drive, and know how arduous your recovery has been and will continue to be. Please know that, while I can't feel the extent of your pain, I can empathize. To a far lesser degree, I've been there. Bearing the scars of the work we do, both physical and mental, seen and invisible; is far more difficult than any other person can possibly realize.

"Do not feel it necessary to discuss this letter with me. If it brings you some support or comfort, it will have fulfilled its intended purpose. I'm writing it, not to embarrass you, preach or pontificate. But just to let you know you are esteemed, appreciated, and hopefully uplifted by a friend. One who is infinitely fortunate to have made your acquaintance and come to know the amazing person you are. I am here for you and Angela, whether in silence or however you may need.

"Always,

Temperance Brennan"

She read her letter several times, made a few changes, saved the document, and printed it. Sliding the folded sheets into an envelope, she addressed it to Hodgins in her sure angular script, and sealed it. Rising from her chair, she left her office, walked across the empty lab, and placed the envelope on Jack Hodgins desk, under the file he was working on at day's end.

Then she returned for her coat, bag and keys and went home to her family. As she walked to her car, she called Booth to let him know she was on her way.


	3. Chapter 3

Reaction

Jack Hodgins rolled into his office and headed immediately for his desk to add his notes from analyzing the mass spectrometer results he'd scrutinized just prior to leaving yesterday. He'd intended to finish that task before he left for the evening, but Michael Vincent had fallen during last recess at school, gashing his thigh deeply. Since Hodgins was still unable to drive, Angela had convinced him to accompany her to the elementary school and their pediatrician's office.

Angered by his physical limitations, he'd managed to tamp down his feelings for his wife's sake. He knew he'd been a curmudgeon to her lately, unable to curb himself most of the time, but their son's injury gave him a temporary focus beyond his own aches and pains. The boy had tried to be brave, but was frightened of needles. The prospect of getting 'sewed on' was just too much, and he had dissolved in tears.

Michael Vincent adored his father, and the pair shared a special bond from hours in the 'bug room' which Angela refused to enter under any circumstances. Jack opening his arms was all it took for the little guy to clamber into his dad's lap as Dr. Melton opened her suture pack. She had rolled her stool over, motioned for her assistant to lower the instrument table, and spread a blue drape across their laps, positioning the hole over Michael Vincent's upper leg.

Okay, Mr. Hodgins, you're going to feel a few little sticks while I deaden this area," she said gently.

"I don't want my leg to die!" he moaned.

"Your leg isn't dying, silly, she's putting it to sleep so you won't feel the stitches," Jack explained, cradling the child's head on his shoulder.

"I don't wanna watch!"

"You don't have to, Sweetie," Angela murmured, rubbing his shoulder. "Just stay calm and look at me or your dad."

Michael Vincent yelped at the pinch of Dr. Melton's anesthetizing injections, but they took effect quickly, and once the pain subsided, he became fascinated with her instruments.

"Can I watch you sew?"

"Certainly, kiddo," the kindly doctor responded. "When I was about your age, I fell out of an apple tree on my Granpa Henry's farm, and spent most of the summer with my arm in a plaster cast. It was hot as all get out, and itched like the dickens! I'd have chosen stitches over that, if anybody had given me the chance!"

Michael scrubbed his fists across his drippy eyes, and returned her grin.

The skillful suturing was completed in record time, punctuated by the patient's curious questions about how she tied the knots. Once his leg was bandaged loosely, Michael Vincent's stomach asserted itself with a noticeable growl. Angela had suggested Vincenzo's Pizzeria, and the family's evening passed without further calamities.

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Setting his coffee mug down, Hodgins reached for his evidence folder, and noticed an envelope lying beneath it. Picking it up, he recognized Brennan's distinctively-slanted script and rubbed his curly beard in puzzlement. He reached for the "King of the Lab" letter opener Zack had set him the previous Christmas to slit the envelope.

Brennan's stationery was ivory watermarked paper; the kind his grandfather would've appreciated. Jack opened the single page slowly, relishing its weight and linen texture. He realized that his friend had composed this message on her computer rather than using a fountain pen as she often did. Dr. Brennan was an enigma wrapped in a conundrum; well-versed in the latest forensic technology yet as old-school as Booth's Bakelite telephone when it came to her correspondence materials. She must have had a meaty thought to convey, he thought to himself. She had once told him that her longhand couldn't keep pace with her brain, when plot ideas for her books came popping into her head.

He scanned her letter, frowned to himself, then read it again more slowly. Yes, he mused, this _was_ a heavy missive. Reaching the bottom of the page, he reread it, then paused, deep in thought. His first reaction was irritation at her injecting herself into his very personal physical struggles. _How dare she?_ But he stopped himself, knowing his colleague as well as he did. There wasn't a mean bone in her body; she never did anything out of spite. Her blunt honesty was often misinterpreted, but her motivation was heartfelt and pure. With Dr. Temperance Brennan, what you saw is what you got.

Placing the letter on his desktop, he rolled his shoulders, cracked his knuckles, and rubbed his eyes. _She's concerned about Angela_ , he realized. Her best friend. His wife was trying her best to support his recovery, and the turmoil was wearing on both of them. For someone who claimed she couldn't read people, Brennan had become very attuned to those closest to her. Booth had rubbed off on his friend, Jack smiled to himself. Angela and she were sisters of the heart, and well aware of each other's emotions and thoughts.

"I'm going to accept this letter in the same spirit it was written to convey. I've gotta work harder at managing my frustration. Angie didn't cause my injuries, and doesn't deserve my stressful wrath. Time to grow a pair, Jack Stanley Hodgins IV," he lectured himself.

"As Ms. Julian would tell me, put on your big boy pants," he chuckled to himself.

He turned on his computer and fired off an email.

"Thanks, Dr. B. It helped. A lot."

Then he slipped the letter back into its envelope, slid it into his bottom desk drawer, and reached for the evidence file to start his day's work.


	4. Chapter 4

Cam's Letter

Cam sat on her couch; feet tucked under her; wrapped in her favorite silk robe, chiding herself.

"I've written dozens of budget proposals, crime reports, employee reviews, without a hitch! Why should a letter to a valued friend be so difficult?"

Depressing the 'delete' key to erase the last three lines she'd composed on her Macbook, she chewed the end of a pencil. Chuckling to herself over her Dragnet detective-era habit, she smiled fondly as Wendell's cigarette-holding thinking technique came to mind. "I'd never smoke! I do this when I need to consider what my dad would do…"

She had been at this endeavor, composing a letter to Jack Hodgins all morning, after mulling what to say most of Friday evening. She heartily agreed with Dr. Brennan that the friendly support of a personal note might benefit Hodgins, but creating one was more difficult than she'd imagined. But then again, girls from the Bronx don't 'spill their guts' easily…

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"Dear Dr. Hodgins, (Yes, I know after all these years of friendship, I should use given names, but this is what I always call you in my head…)"

"I know this letter might shock you, but I have some things to tell you that I can't say out loud over coffee or next to the mass spec in your office. You may not believe this, but we're a lot alike, you and I…your sometimes grumpy manner, snapping a rubber band on your wrist when we first met; my tendency toward sarcasm when emotions and situations become too personal."

"Your self-effacing nature hides one of the most generous spirits I know. When that snake Pelant threatened the Islamic school thousands of miles away with a bomb, you never hesitated to save those girls, sacrificing your fortune in an instant. Unlike the very immature Clinton Gilmour who gave no thought to his 'pregnancy pact' offspring's futures, you instinctively protected children you'd never even know."

"You've put your personal resources at the disposal of our team more than once, and silently fund the Jeffersonian through your Cantilever Group. When I took this job, Dr. Goodman warned me that your intense desire for anonymity underlies your prickly exterior. Yes, he knew about your fortune after the gala you skipped, but never broadcast it. He respected you deeply, as do I."

"As a very private person, I understand your feelings, which is why writing this letter is all the more awkward. But I've watched you struggle and suffer since the Gallo bombing injured you and Aubrey, and I find myself impelled to express my empathy and admiration. Not sympathy, mind you. I deeply regret that you were hurt so badly; your life has been complicated forever by those two teenage thugs. It was bad enough that they desecrated a police officer's body; much less exposing dedicated innocents to serious danger and bodily harm."

"I know that enormous frustration and pain have left you enraged at the monumental unfairness of this situation. We have each suffered trauma applying science to crime; my inhalation of the toxins inside Carolyn Epps' skull; your Christmas exposure to that valley fever fungus, even though you did spike the eggnog yourself. We both recovered despite ignoring the lab's protective protocols. The staggering difference now is the permanence inflicted upon you."

"I'm not writing this to spark a discussion between us. I have gone back and forth, trying to decide whether or not to even give you this note. Emotions are messy and embarrassing to people like us. We share readily with those closest to us, ones held dear, but less so with associates, friends, and colleagues. Nonetheless, I hope you'll draw strength from knowing you have the unspoken support and firm affection of those around you. Despite my admonitions regarding experiments, I admire your boundless curiosity, superior intelligence, and amazing mental agility."

"You are blessed with a most wonderful helpmate and wife; Angela's giving spirit and creative insights know no bounds. I value both your friendships more than I can express. If ever I can help in any way, know that you need only to ask."

"Sincerely,

Camille Saroyan"

She uncoiled her legs to rise, and realized her left foot was now asleep. _Great_. Flipping the printer on, she added several sheets of her ivory vellum stationery, and hit 'print.' After her coffee mug was refilled with cinnamon hazelnut brew, she scanned, signed, and folded the letter; stuffed and addressed the matching envelope, located a stamp, and slid it into her purse. Once she was dressed in slacks, sweater and her favorite YSL espadrilles, she would post it on her way to meet Felicia for lunch.


	5. Chapter 5

A Note from Saki Naki

On the other side of the globe from Washington DC, a Japanese agent scowled at his computer screen. He wished to comfort a valued colleague, and hoped his message would be accepted in that vein. Deciding how to convey his thoughts was a difficult task indeed, especially in English.

"Dear Dr. Jack Hodgins,

"I hope you will not think I am being too presumptive in writing this letter to you. In a recent telephone conversation with my friend Agent Booth, I inquired after the well-being of his Jeffersonian colleagues who were so instrumental in apprehending the killer of my beloved little sister Sachi. Your skilled scientific analysis of the evidentiary particulates was incredibly helpful in determining who was guilty of this travesty.

"Some time ago I was very happy when Booth told me that you and your wife now have a young son, and that his eyesight was normal despite hereditary factors which could have caused a less fortunate outcome for your baby. But this time, Booth revealed that you and Agent James Aubrey were both injured when a bomb was placed inside the body of a murder victim. Even worse, a police officer. Agent Aubrey's recovery was an excellent occurrence, and you both escaped with your lives.

"But I was greatly saddened to hear that you later became paralyzed from the epidural hematoma compressing your spine. While I have never been seriously injured as you were, the grief over losing my beloved little sister, and our honored parents caused me great physical pain for months. I don't know why, only that it did. Certainly not the same as your suffering, but something I had to endure and learn to cope with, as you are. For me, 'gut-wrenching' was not just a word.

"I realize our religious belief systems are vastly different, but I hope you will not object to my praying to our Shinto gods and my ancestors for your benefit, so that your kami may deign to improve your mobility and health. To this end, I have visited our family shrine and will continue to do so on your behalf. I observed that you are as muscular as Booth, and a vigorous man in the prime of your life, which will make dealing with your wheelchair more successful. Your considerable upper body strength will be very useful maneuvering through your home, at the lab, and all areas of your life.

"Again, I hope you do not take offense at this letter. My intent is not to cause consternation, but rather to wish you the blessings of health and long life. Like my friend Booth, you strike me as a very noble, determined, motivated man, with a strong spirit and will, which I greatly admire. I am eternally in your debt; grateful for your efforts and time spent to bring justice for my sister.

"I will continue to pray that some new development in technology or your physical recovery will restore your ability to walk. If that does not come to pass, I pray you will remain strong and resolute in facing your challenges. None of us escapes hardships in this life. May the future bring you peace, fulfillment, and joy in the face of adversity.

"Sincerely,

Ken Nakamura"

Once his letter was printed, Naki placed it in an envelope addressed to Dr. Hodgins at the Jeffersonian Institution and mailed it off.


End file.
